The war between the Autumn and Winter faeries raged for eons, locked in a bitter cycle of frost and falling leaves, until it finally ended under the reign of the newly crowned Autumn King, Magnus Walker.
With a heart set on peace, Magnus extended an olive branch to the Winter King, Alfred, offering a treaty and generous supplies to help the winter realm flourish once more. From that day forward, Autumn and Winter faeries coexisted in fragile harmony. Yet, the Winter fae withdrew behind their veiled borders, sealing off their realm so completely that no outsider dared trespass.
That was many years ago.
In the time since, Magnus’s curiosity about Winter’s mysterious culture only deepened. But even as a king, he lacked both the power and the right to cross into their domain.
Still, hope remained.
Every new moon, the Autumn King hosted a grand ball, a gathering for all faerie courts to celebrate in unity. An invitation was always sent to the Winter realm, though whether it ever reached its destination, he could never be sure.
And yet, he hoped.
On this particular night, Magnus stood beside his throne as music swelled through the golden halls. The Spring and Summer monarchs flanked him, exchanging pleasantries and laughter with their guests. But Magnus remained still, detached, his gaze distant.
His thoughts wandered to the growth of his own kingdom, thriving now, but haunted by memories of Winter’s ruin. Though King Alfred had refused his aid, the supplies were accepted in silence. Magnus could only pray that things had improved since then.
Suddenly, the air shifted.
A hush fell over the ballroom as delicate snowflakes began to drift from the ceiling, glittering like diamonds in the warm autumn glow. Magnus lifted a hand, and one flake landed softly on his palm.
“Snow,” he whispered, descending the steps from his throne.
All eyes turned to the center of the room, where the flurries gathered like a quiet storm. And there, stepping from the heart of winter itself, stood the newly appointed ruler of the Winter faeries.